28. Vi
CHAPTER 28
VI
After a crappy movie, Uncle Jay and I get ice cream. His marked hand twitches the whole time, like he’s shivering in anxiety but trying not to let it show. Still, Uncle Jay refuses to talk about Patrick. Tears shimmer in his eyes, and his fists tighten at the mere mention of my husband, but we pretend like everything is normal. Patrick is on “vacation,” just like my mom and dad.
Then night comes, and I’m back at the penthouse when Kenzo returns. I’m in jeans and a cream button-up sweater, and Kenzo is still in his white dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing his colorful skin—another fish fighting the waves—and he drinks me in from head to toe. My chest seizes under his gaze.
“You look fancy,” he jokes.
I cross my arms. “A sweater is fancy?”
“Fancy for this, yeah.”
He grabs my hand, and we take his flashy red convertible. I ask him a million times where we’re going and what we’re doing, but he just laughs.
“It’s a surprise!” he yells.
He turns up the music so loud that I can’t talk, and we drive down the 15. Hypnotizing bright lights flash to the sides of us until they fade into darkness, and then it’s pitch black desert. Cacti and Joshua trees hover in the shadows. The car’s headlights are our only guide. Finally, Kenzo lowers the volume of the radio.
“This song is called ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love.’ Bad Company. You know this one?” he asks.
He hums along to the lyrics, and I smile, wondering if he’s somehow implying it’s our song. I must be staring a little too hard, because he reaches over and pinches my arm.
“It just fits us, right?” he says.
My shoulders sink. “You want to make love?” I ask. “That’s not you.”
“Baby, you don’t know all of me yet,” he winks. “Just listen.”
I listen to the lyrics, but my mind is so buzzed with anticipation, I can’t focus, even though I like the guitar portion of the song. It’s somehow hard and soft at the same time, just like Kenzo. He’s got such different sides to him: harsh, yet easygoing. Completely controlling, yet protective. Maybe the song does fit in a way.
Forty-five minutes later, we take the ramp to another highway, then a short while after that, we pull onto a gravel road. Nerves twist in my stomach. I bite my bottom lip, and Kenzo stretches his arm over the back of my seat, his fingers tickling my neck. The wheels crunch over the rocks and a slab of pavement before he parks on the flat surface.
Kenzo pops the trunk and gets out. He swings black garbage bags in his hands, carrying them over to a concrete circle a few yards away. I reach to help him with the cargo. He stops me.
“Stay here for a second,” he says. “I’ll tell you when.”
I fiddle with my outfit, impatient I can’t even dump garbage bags with him, but I’m not going to argue about work with a yakuza gangster.
Not many cars pass on the highway, and those that do, probably can’t see us from back here on the gravel road. I study the area where Kenzo drops the garbage bags. It’s a big centerpiece, surrounded by cement. A firepit maybe.
It’s dead silent, and I feel like I’m breathing too loud. Kenzo must have noticed the silence too, because he starts humming to himself as he rips open the bags.
Something wet and heavy sloshes into the fire pit. My stomach curdles. I don’t want to ask him what it is, but I’m afraid I already know. It’s a body. And I’m pretty sure I know who it is.
Ten minutes go by. Then twenty.
Fire cackles to life, burning behind me. I spin around. The flame lights Kenzo’s dark eyes, and I wrap an arm around my stomach.
“Are you allowed to light fires out here?” I ask hesitantly.
“If I’m not, I know the sheriff,” he says. “I think there’s something about personal fires in Nevada law.” He lifts his shoulders. “This is personal. ”
“I thought you said this was about work.”
“It’s all the same to me, baby.”
He puts an arm around me, and guilt fills me up. It’s Patrick’s body burning in the pit in front of us, and I should be crying. I should feel bitter. I should hate Kenzo for what he did. Patrick may have done some terrible things to me, but he was still my cousin and basically my adoptive brother. I feel like garbage.
But I feel like trash because I don’t miss him at all. If anything, I’m worried about Uncle Jay, but that’s it.
Kenzo pulls me in closer. I should be afraid of him. He killed my adoptive brother for something that happened to me years ago, and yet, I’m not afraid.
Elation. Safety. Comfort. That’s what I feel.
I look up at Kenzo, and I realize I’m going to be sad when this is over. Kenzo has always acted like there was an expiration date on our marriage, but since he made me promise not to have sex with anyone else, I’m beginning to wonder if he’s starting to question that supposedly bleak future too. Maybe I don’t want it to be over. Maybe Kenzo doesn’t either.
Those feelings simmer inside of me as the scent of charred flesh floats through the air. It should be disgusting, but it’s not. I’m secretly relieved. Patrick was always one step away from offering a date with me to his “friends,” using it as a threat to get me to do exactly what he wanted. Uncle Jay always looks out for me, but he could never do much about Patrick since he was his kid too. But Kenzo immediately made sure Patrick would never hurt me again.
Maybe that’s the difference between us. Con artists are delicate with their negotiations, so everyone believes they’ve won, even if it’s a small, simple win. On the other hand, yakuza men don’t care. They know what they want, and they’re determined to get it, by any means necessary.
“Have you always been part of the yakuza?” I ask.
Kenzo keeps his eyes on the flames. “I met Tomo when I was twelve.”
I nod, wondering what twelve-year-old Kenzo would have been like. Was he scared, like I was at six years old, knowing Uncle Jay was my new guardian? Or did Kenzo not care about anything? Did he think Tomo was cool?
The fire dances before us, and there’s a certain beauty to it. The flames can hurt anyone they touch, and yet for now, the fire is content in the pit. Freedom and gratitude bubble in my chest, but guilt is there too. I don’t deserve this, I want to say to Kenzo. I’m the last person you should be helping. I don’t deserve you. But I can’t make myself say it.
Instead, I say, “You didn’t have to kill him for me.”
“Actually, I did,” he says. “I’m not going to apologize for what I did, Vi. He hurt you, and I refused to let that go.”
His words are so final I know I’m never going to win this argument. It doesn’t matter if I’m fighting for my late cousin’s life, or if I’m arguing because I don’t deserve Kenzo’s loyalty. Kenzo is confident in his actions. He doesn’t regret anything.
Because he has decided to put me above everything else.
“If it weren’t for this yakuza stuff,” I say, “I think I could actually trust you.”
“If it weren’t for the yakuza, neither of us would be here right now,” he says. A deep pressure fills me. He’s absolutely right, and I’m grateful for the paths we chose. That he found Tomo. That he agreed to meet with Uncle Jay about an arranged marriage with me. That I reluctantly agreed to our first date at the gala.
Kenzo’s hand caresses my back as his eyes roam over me. “To be honest, you shouldn’t trust anyone, Vi. Especially me.”
“You’re right,” I say. But I do trust him; I just won’t admit it. Saying it aloud will make the bond real, and I’m already losing so much of myself to Kenzo.
So instead, I whisper, “Kiss me.”
His lips press to mine, and I melt into his arms. He’s hard and venomous, but he feels like love, like safety, like protection, like a real home, like I can bury myself inside of him and never come out. He pulls up my sweater and undershirt, then squeezes my breasts in his palms. We spin around until I’m facing the road. The breeze rustles through the desert, tickling my exposed chest.
“What if someone sees us?” I whisper.
He chuckles in my ear, and his dick stabs my ass cheeks.
“My wife exposed like this for anyone to pass by and see. What if I want them to see you?” he says in a low voice. “What if I want the world to see you’re willing to do anything for me? What if I want everyone to know that you ” — those warm words bounce across my ear—“ are ”—his tongue leaves a trail of wetness along my neck, his teeth scraping my flesh—“ mine. ”
He whips me around, kissing me so deeply I can’t breathe. The bonfire cracks behind us, and as he explores my body, I forget everything. My whole world is absorbed by Kenzo, by someone who chose me. A man who doesn’t ask what I can give him. Who doesn’t teach me a lesson. Who doesn’t expect me to get blackout drunk and fuck whoever he puts in front of me. My world is absorbed by a man who even told me I should run away from him. Who said he’d give me the respect of making that choice.
But I’m still here.
He lays me on the gravel, pulling my pants off of my hips. The rocks dig into my back, but I let him do exactly what he wants to me. His cock slides between my legs, finding his home deep inside of me, and he moans. The flames flicker in his eyes, and it’s different like this. Something has changed between us. I don’t know what it is, but his eyes stay on mine, and I know he feels it too. We’re safe with each other.
“I’m glad you’re part of the Endo-kai,” I whisper.
He pulls back between his thrusts to look deep into my eyes. A warmhearted smile forms on his lips, as if to say he’s glad too. He brushes the hair out of my face and shoves deep inside of me again.
“One day,” he says in a low voice, “you will be too.”